Dec 20 2013
About a week ago, a friend posted on her Facebook page: “Happy Houseiversary!”
She and her family had been living in their new home for a year (a home that happens to be across the road from my home. Hi, Lori!)
I saw Lori’s post, checked the calendar, and immediately felt shame. Just a week before Lori’s houseiversary, we had a houseiversary, too. It’s just that I hadn’t noticed. I didn’t mention it to my husband, and he didn’t mention it to me. I didn’t post it on Facebook, or give it much thought, at all. In fact, when people ask us how long we’ve been living in our new home, in our new town, we usually mumble, “Uh, a year? About a year? Maybe a little less than a year?” (For the record: one year, three weeks, and five days.)
I’ve blogged on Kveller a bunch about my ambivalence about the suburbs. First I wondered if I was old enough to own a house and then I wondered if the suburbs would make my kids boring. There was a post where I asked, “Will we find people like us?” and one where I tried to instruct readers on how to “close on a house and not freak out.” Read the rest of this entry →
Nov 8 2013
“I want Shabbat,” my son Benjamin proclaimed on a recent Saturday afternoon as the guests we’d invited over for lunch milled about the house. I looked up from the salad I was throwing together, certain I’d misunderstood him. Shabbat is something we do every week in our house, yet something Benjamin, now 10 years old, had never once acknowledged. But then he said it again.
Benjamin has autism, and with his variation of the disorder comes serious language impairments that make it insanely difficult for him to do something that most of us take for granted; to identify the thoughts he wants to express, find the corresponding words, and then actually put those words out into the world. Communicating is an Everest-scaling level challenge for him, and because of that, Benjamin has become quite adept at paring it down to the basics.
And we, in turn, have become quite adept at interpreting the collection of compact lines he has curated over the years in order to get his needs met. More difficult is decoding the subtext, although we have become increasingly skilled at that part, too. Read the rest of this entry →
Oct 25 2013
A trauma in three acts:
The Friday could not have started any nicer; my 4-year-old daughter, Raphaela, celebrated her birthday in nursery school–always a touching and emotional event in the Israeli school system–and as a bonus, my parents had arrived the day before from Boston and were able to join in the festivities.
That afternoon, my parents offered to babysit Raphaela, a luxury for me both as a single mother by choice, and as a woman who moved to Israel 16 years ago, with no immediate family living anywhere on the continent. What a sense of freedom knowing that my child is in capable and loving hands, and that I have several hours with no responsibilities other than to myself.
Then, that evening, while waiting at my parents’ vacation apartment for my father to return from synagogue, Raphaela tripped on a quilt and smashed her chin directly into the hard cold tiled floor that typifies most Israeli buildings. Read the rest of this entry →
Oct 18 2013
We are Shabbat rookies in every way.
Before we got married, we decided to raise the kids Jewish. I am Jewish, my husband is not. It was important to me, and my husband liked the idea of them growing up with a faith.
Some of the best advice I got on raising kids Jewish was from a religious school administrator who told me, “Just do Jewish.”
Got it. Do Jewish.
Now what? Read the rest of this entry →
Oct 16 2013
Ever wonder how other parents handle (or try to handle) the day-to-day grind of raising young kids? We were, which is why we started this series. Here’s a day in the life of Kveller contributing editor, Carla Naumburg.
6:00 a.m.: My alarm goes off just as my 3-year-old starts screaming because she can’t find her lovey. I head in to her room only to find it in her hand. The 4-year-old sleeps through it. I get the baby back to sleep and head to the computer to revise an abstract that’s due later that day, only to realize that my brain isn’t functioning. I shoot off an email about rescheduling a play date, and go downstairs to meditate.
I sit down on a small cushion in the corner of my living room and try to focus on my breath. Within seconds I find myself ticking off items in my mental to-do list: finish the abstract, edit a book chapter, drop off the dry cleaning, buy a gift for tomorrow’s birthday party, call my grandmother. I notice that my mind is wandering, and I come back to my breath.
Seconds later, I’ve noticed how humid the air is, and my mind is longing for the dry air and green chile of New Mexico. Green chile. So delicious. So spicy. Will my daughter ever eat it? She’s so picky. Am I getting enough protein into her? Do Americans worry too much about protein? Should we be worried more about organic vegetables? Should I be buying organic strawberries? I realize my mind has wandered, and I come back to my breath. I do this again and again for about 20 minutes.
Meanwhile, Josh makes lunches–his job when he isn’t traveling. Read the rest of this entry →
Oct 11 2013
Sometimes (OK, so often), I look at my kids playing on their various devices: PCs, iPads, etc., and I want to take a hammer to them and smash them to smithereens (the devices, not the children). I want to see them outside PLAYING. I want them READING BOOKS.
But really–what right do I have to feel this way as I sit at my desktop, writing this piece during the ninth hour of this day spent at my computer?
I used to read like a fiend. That was before we purchased our first personal computer. I could read seven to 10 books a week–fat ones.
Back then I was always in the thick of one high risk pregnancy or another or possibly in the postpartum phase. The used bookstore lady dreaded my husband coming into the story, sent to find me MORE BOOKS. “There is nothing here,” she would say, “that your wife hasn’t read!” Read the rest of this entry →
Oct 4 2013
I had been thinking about it all week. Josh was out of town for work, and for the first time in a long time, he wouldn’t be home for Shabbat. It would be my job to make Shabbat.
Seeing as how Josh and I have been lighting candles on Friday nights since we first moved into together nearly 12 years ago, this should be no big deal, right?
I had never led the blessings by myself before–I always had Josh to back me up–and I had never blessed the girls before. That’s his job. I wasn’t sure I could do it. I didn’t really want to do it. I thought about just not telling the girls it was Friday night. But Frieda woke up that morning asking if it was Friday, if we were going to do Shabbat, if she was going to get her beloved Shabbos guacamole and chips. (I’m from New Mexico. Work with me here.) Then I thought about telling them that we don’t do Shabbat unless the whole family is with us. But I realized I had just been away for a week, and Josh did it without me, so that wasn’t going to fly.
I had to step up. Read the rest of this entry →
Aug 30 2013
It’s the Shabbat of Labor Day weekend, which begs the question: if you don’t grill your challah today, when will you?!
Food52 has detailed directions for baking your challah on the grill here. Or you can try out this Balsamic Apple Date Challah in preparation for Rosh Hashanah. Happy Labor Day/end of summer to you all. We’ll be here next Tuesday with some great last minute recipes, tips and ideas for Rosh Hashanah. Shabbat shalom!
Aug 2 2013
The first time that my son told me he hated Shabbat, I wanted to cry. He was 4 years old. We were spending a lovely Shabbat afternoon at our neighborhood park when our peace was shattered by the ringing bells of the ice-cream truck. My son reflexively joined the children around him on an eager dash to the park gate. I gently pulled him back and reminded him that it was Shabbat and that means that just like we rest, our money rests, so we would not be buying ice cream that day. (I’m not sure how theologically sound this reasoning is, but I figured it would make sense to the 4-year-old brain.)
Instantaneously his eyes welled with tears. He looked me straight in the eye and proclaimed for all around us to hear “I HATE SHABBAT.” Read the rest of this entry →